


i am a missile that's guided to you

by ericdire (aarobron)



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: M/M, Tumblr Prompts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:35:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 20,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23084101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aarobron/pseuds/ericdire
Summary: a collection of short tumblr prompts.31. “i didn’t know you could do that.”
Relationships: Virgil van Dijk/Jordan Henderson
Comments: 5
Kudos: 59





	1. hiding/hoping not to be caught kiss

“Hendo,” Gini calls, peering at Jordan with wide, curious eyes. He’s just walking through the door into the away dressing room, shirt balled up in his hands. He hasn’t showered yet, one of the last to go in, but that’s alright. They’ve got plenty of time, and it’s nice to soak up the win. “Virgil wants a word with you.”

He jerks his head back towards the doorway, gesturing in the direction he just came from, and then disappears into the crowd of people that’s gathered around Bobby. It’s weird that Virgil wants to talk to him in an empty corridor, Jordan thinks, but then again, not a lot of the things he feels about Virgil make sense.

That’s alright, though, because they also make him feel like he’s on top of the world.

Virgil was one of the first in the showers after the game and Jordan followed not long after, because both of them just want to go home and spend one last night together before international break. Matt the press man had trailed in after Klopp at full time and had regretfully told Virgil that he was on interview duty, and that meant they were minus at least an hour before Virgil had to catch his flight back to the Netherlands, so Jordan is a little bit on tenterhooks.

He’s not _normally_ this needy, not really, but the thought of spending two weeks apart is making his chest ache. They haven’t had a single night away from each other since the start of preseason, and Jordan is a little bit terrified at the prospect of sleeping alone. Of course, he’s going to be surrounded with his national teammates, and he’s got Trent and Joe to annoy if he can’t sleep…

But they’re not Virgil.

He doesn’t love them, not in that whole, all-encompassing way he loves his boyfriend, and he doesn’t know them better than anyone else, and they don’t really know _him_ , either. They don’t know what makes him tick, what makes him laugh and what buttons to press and what ones not to press, and it scares him. He doesn’t know if he can remember how to put that mask back on for those few hours between dinner and bedtime. He does know that he doesn’t want to, though – but only because he wants to be with Virgil.

Still, they’ve got the here and now at least, so he shakes himself out of his thoughts and heads the way that Gini pointed. He finds Virgil just outside the door, back resting against the white wall and smirking at Jordan in that irresistible way. It’s a little bit ridiculous, really.

“Took your time,” Virgil says, straightening up when Jordan steps into the space between his feet. The backs of his fingers brush against against the older man’s cheek and his eyes keep dipping down to his lips like he can’t pay quite attention. “ _Every second is precious_ – that’s what you said last night, isn’t it?”  


Jordan rolls his eyes, but he can feel himself blushing bright red. He’d said that half asleep and on the back of two orgasms, tired and sated, content to curl up and press soft kisses to Virgil’s chest for the rest of his life. Not that he didn’t mean it, it’s just that he didn’t mean it to come out quite so pathetic. “What do you want to talk to me about?” Jordan asks instead, trying to steer the conversation away.

“Who said I wanted to talk?” Virgil counters, wrapping his fingers around both of Jordan’s wrists and pulling him in tight. He brings one hand up to his mouth to kiss Jordan’s knuckles and flattens the other his chest, right over his heart. His pulse is fluttering, pounding so hard that Jordan can feel it, and it’s nice to know that they’re both on the same page.  


“Well – Gini, actually,” Jordan says, but he’s grateful that they’re not going to waste ten minutes talking about the game. He appreciates analysis as much as the next person – especially from someone who can read every pass as well as Virgil does – but the younger man’s eyes are dark and his mouth is bitten red, and Jordan really, _really_ wants to kiss him.  


So he does. 

He hooks his arm around Virgil’s neck and leans up on his tiptoes, taking a moment to watch Virgil’s eyelids flutter closed in anticipation. He looks beautiful, and Jordan nudges their noses together before finally closing the gap. 

The kiss is slow and deep; Jordan parts his mouth when Virgil’s tongue slides along his bottom lip, letting out a stuttered sigh when the younger man’s hands rest on his back, pulling him in until they’re chest to chest. He could never get bored of this, of the way it makes him feel – he can see stars beneath his eyelids and his entire body is tingling. 

“Love you,” Virgil murmurs, pulling away just enough to be able to speak. His fingers slip up the back of Jordan’s t-shirt, brushing against the soft skin there, and he smiles against Jordan’s mouth. “Wish I didn’t have to leave tonight.”  


“I love you too,” Jordan says, and kisses Virgil again. Just because he can. He pulls away properly, though, and uses the hand on Virgil’s chest to stop him chasing the kiss. He wants nothing more than to stay like this forever, but the responsible part of him knows they can’t. “You’ve got interview duty, Virg. You’ve got to go.”   


“Don’t want to,” Virgil says. He pulls Jordan in for a proper hug and the older man can feel the movement of him shaking his head (and he’s probably pouting, too). He’s stubborn, Virgil, with a one track mind – especially when it comes to Jordan. “Wanna stay here. With you.”  


“In a dark and dingy corridor in _Burnley_? How romantic,” Jordan says. He pulls back so he can look at Virgil, one eyebrow raised and determined not to back down, but it doesn’t last very long. Virgil is doing that thing with his eyes that Jordan can’t resist, so he sighs, long-suffering, and lets himself be dragged back in. “Fine, but if we get caught, you’re taking all the responsibility.”   


“I can deal with that,” Virgil says, lips curved up into a smirk. Jordan kisses it right off of his face, because if he’s going to break his own rules, he may as well do it properly. Besides, it doesn’t really matter – not when it doesn’t feel like breaking the rules. His heart is thudding so perfectly in his chest and he can’t think of anywhere else he’d rather be.

Or anyone else he’d rather spend the rest of his life with.


	2. lazy morning kisses before they’ve even opened their eyes, still mumbling half-incoherently, not wanting to wake up

The AC unit is still blowing at full strength, but it doesn’t matter. It’s barely eight in the morning and the sun is already shining brightly through a crack in the curtains, and Jordan knows the air will be sticky as soon as he steps outside.

There are goosebumps scattered across his skin, but the warm body pressed against his back is fighting off the chilly air. He melts into the touch, smiling to himself when the arm around his waist tightens, and tangles his fingers with Virgil’s. Just because he can. 

He can feel the exact moment Virgil wakes up. He draws in a deep breath, then presses his smile into Jordan’s bare shoulder, dropping a gentle kiss there before propping himself up on his elbow and kissing his cheek. “Good morning,” he says, voice low and hoarse from sleep, palm coming up to rest on Jordan’s chest, right over his heart. “Captain of the champions of Europe.” 

Jordan smiles, burying his face in the pillow to try and hide it, but he really doesn’t think Virgil would blame him right now. “Tell me I’m not dreaming,” he murmurs, dragging himself to lay on his back. He doesn’t open his eyes, too desperate for a bit more sleep – even though he knows he won’t get it. They’ve got to be at the airport soon, and then they’ve got a million and one things scheduled when they get back to Liverpool.

“You’re not dreaming,” Virgil says, running his fingers through Jordan’s hair. His thumb catches at the corner of Jordan’s eye, gently stroking the little smile lines there, and he grins, leaning down to catch the older man’s mouth with his own softly. “I promise you – this is very, very real.”   


“Doesn’t feel like it,” Jordan breathes quietly. His skin brushes against Virgil’s when he speaks – his stomach, his mouth, his chest – and he hums happily when Virgil hooks a leg over his thighs. It feels protective, almost. A little territorial, and Jordan would hate that from anyone else, but from Virgil, it feels natural. It feels like he’s exactly where he belongs. “Just –– it hasn’t sunk in yet, that’s all.”   


“Well,” Virgil says, drawling the word slowly. His hand slips from Jordan’s hair to curve around the side of his face, and he leans down to kiss him. It’s deep and breathtaking, making Jordan’s toes curl in the sheets, and he lets out a needy noise deep in his throat that Virgil swallows as soon as it leaves his mouth. “We’re going to fly home, get changed, and then present our super captain to his city. Everyone’s gonna be coming to see you holding that trophy, you know. Nobody else matters. But first… I reckon we’ve got about forty minutes before anyone comes looking for us, so…”   


Virgil’s thigh slips between Jordan’s and he kisses him harshly, licking into his mouth and not letting him stop for breath, but honestly – Jordan wouldn’t even want to. All the celebrations they have planned: the parades and the parties, they mean nothing to him, not really.

After all, he would rather celebrate with one person and one person only.

Because nothing else matters when he’s got Virgil by his side.


	3. write a ~300 word scene between them with no dialogue, only body language

Virgil looks over at Jordan. He couldn’t speak to him now if he wanted to, because the music is too loud and Bobby and Ali’s singing (screaming) is even louder. That’s alright, though. He doesn’t need his words at a time like this.

Jordan keeps touching the trophy, won’t step away from it. Fingertips glossing over silver like he can’t believe it, like they didn’t seal the league two months ago. It’s different, though. Now they’ve actually got something to show for it.

And Jordan deserves it more than most. This season he’s picked up plenty of individual accolades, because, well, he’s been their best player. That’s all there is to it. He’s been fantastic; slotting into whatever position needed, midfield and defence, and his short absence only proved how important he was to the team.

Virgil has never, ever been prouder. 

He smiles when Jordan raises his eyebrows, because he knows he’s been caught. He’s not embarrassed though. Could never be embarrassed about the things he feels about Jordan, because there’s so many, and none of them are simple. They’re all beautiful, in their own way. He loves every single one of them.

That’s the thought that makes him drift towards Jordan, the things he feels and the thoughts he has. Moves towards him like it’s the only thing he’s programmed to do, and slides a hand across the back of his neck. Fingertips gentle on the soft skin as he presses a kiss to his temple. They’re safe here. Everybody who matters is in this room, and they are loved. 

Jordan tucks himself against Virgil’s side and finally takes his fingers off the trophy. Puts them on Virgil’s stomach instead, hot even through the material of his t-shirt, and lifts his head to press a kiss to the underside of Virgil’s jaw.

Everything that matters is in this room,

and the most important thing of it all is in Virgil’s arms.


	4. write a ~300 word love scene for them

“Hi,” Jordan says. He’s smiling, eyes crinkling at the corners, and Virgil feels so overwhelmed with love just from that look alone. It’s threatening to burst right out, spilling all over the pitch and taking everyone in its path. 

“Hey,” he breathes, and reaches out to pull Jordan into a hug.

International duty has been difficult. Two (and a bit) weeks of not seeing each other, only speaking over text or FaceTime has been difficult. They’re mature enough that it doesn’t cause any problems, but they’ve also been together long enough that any time spent apart feels like a kick in the teeth.

Virgil was supposed to be home last night. He’d been away in Spain for an international game, and Koeman had decided that the warmer weather would be perfect to train in, to try and get them up to speed for the Euros. So Virgil was supposed to be home last night, ready in time for training at Melwood today, but life never, ever works simply.

All flights were cancelled because of the tail end of a sand storm heading across from Africa. He hadn’t even slept, too busy checking the airport’s website, desperate to be home and see Jordan.

And now he’s finally here.

He tucks his nose against the cold skin of Jordan’s neck, and realises that he prefers this much, much more than sunny Spain. How could it ever be a competition? 

“Missed you loads,” Jordan whispers, stretching up on his tiptoes so that his mouth is right next to Virgil’s ear when he speaks. It’s private, the way they love each other. Nobody else needs to know it like they do. “Can’t stand being away from you.”

“Could take it or leave it,” Virgil says, holding Jordan at arm’s length and pulling a face. He’s lying and they both know it, but Jordan doesn’t call him out on it. Instead, he presses a chaste kiss to his mouth, and smiles against his lips at all the distant cheers from behind them.


	5. write a ~300 word fantasy one of them has about the other.

Jordan’s eyes follow Virgil around the room, tracking the fluid movements of his body. Watches him bend to open a drawer, the smooth curve of his spine. His hands are sure and strong when they rifle through the drawer’s contents.

He sits back on his heels and blinks when Virgil glances over his shoulder with a smile, cheeks flushing hot at the attention. He hates being the centre of attention most of the time, but when it comes to Virgil –– he wants to be the only thing that matters. 

“You okay?” Virgil asks, padding back towards the bed. He’s still fully dressed, in his jeans and t-shirt and socks, while Jordan is in, well – a little less. He’d be embarrassed about it if it wasn’t for the way Virgil’s eyes jitter lower every so often. “Still want this?”

“Yeah,” Jordan breathes, not taking his eyes off of Virgil’s face. The younger man takes a step closer to the bed, close enough that he can reach out and touch, and he does. He curls his fingers around Jordan’s cheek and strokes carefully, light as a feather. 

“If you change your mind –” Virgil starts, always careful, always considerate.

“Then I just have to tell you, yes, I know,” Jordan says, cutting Virgil off. He rolls his eyes, although he does feel – completely overwhelmed, really, that Virgil cares about him enough to be like that. 

Virgil smirks, tapping his fingers against Jordan’s cheek. 

He takes his other hand from behind his back and Jordan’s breath catches in his throat, torn between hating the loss and loving the expectation when Virgil lets go. He twists the scarf in his hands, silk slipping through his fingers. It’s like art.

He takes each end, loops it across Jordan’s eyes and ties it at the back, loose enough that it doesn’t hurt, but tight enough that he can feel it. There won’t be any marks. There won’t be any change – except for the one that Jordan feels deep in his chest.

Virgil touches the underside of his chin, tilts his head up. Kisses him softly, barely there, but it still makes his toes curl.

Jordan feels all the stress melt away until the only thing that matters is Virgil.


	6. being so exhausted that they faintly whisper the name of someone they trust as they are carried to bed.

Jordan is exhausted, that much is obvious.

The season has taken its toll on him – the perfect start and then the dropped points against United. The pressure to be perfect all over again, because pundits and rivals and, well, just about the entire country predict that you’re about to collapse. The loss, that singular loss to Watford, and the rough patch that followed after. Out of the FA cup. Scraping wins against teams they should, on paper, breeze by.

The injuries. The knocks, and the aches and the pains, and playing through it all just because the team need you. The arnica that Jordan took to spreading delicately on Virgil’s bruised ribs for close to two months, and the single drawer in their freezer that was dedicated to nothing but ice packs.

It was exhausting, but it paid off.

And now it’s over and Jordan is allowed to breathe, allowed to think about something other than football. He can relax – although maybe he is taking that a little bit too literally.

Granted, it is late. Almost two in the morning, but this is their party and they can carry it on as long as they want. But Jordan is dozing off in the corner, has been for about fifteen minutes now. Tucked in on himself, head against his shoulder, arms crossed over his chest.

The most beautiful thing Virgil has ever seen.

He started saying his goodbyes as soon as Jordan’s eyelids growing heavy. Because they could be opposite sides of the room, country, _world_ – and Virgil will still be looking for him all the time. He noticed, and he smiled to himself, and that was all he needed. 

Years ago he would’ve carried on the party until the sun started to come up, but not now. Not when he’s got much more important things, like his boyfriend and a home and the life he’s always wanted. 

Speaking of – he walks over to the table he vacated and crouches down next to Jordan’s seat, brushing the backs of his fingers along the older man’s cheek. He doesn’t wake up, doesn’t move at all. He’s properly out for the count, and Virgil can’t help the embarrassingly fond smile that spreads across his face.

He takes Jordan’s hand and presses a soft kiss to his knuckles before using it to pull him to his feet. He just about stirs, enough that he can tuck himself against Virgil’s side, head on his chest and fingers fisted into his jacket, and thankfully, enough that he can walk. 

People smile at them as they leave. Strangers who aren’t strangers, but are in the capacity that Virgil doesn’t know them. Friends of friends who he can trust – but strangers nonetheless. Their teammates smile at them, too happy to make teasing comments. Klopp gives them both a quick hug, and then ushers them out of the door before anyone can wake Jordan up. 

The cold air wakes Jordan up slightly, and he shivers, immediately burrowing closer into Virgil’s side. He opens his eyes, lashes brushing against Virgil’s collarbone, and breathes out a deep sigh. “Virgil?” He whispers, barely audible above the noise of the road the other side of the fence.

“Yeah, baby,” Virgil murmurs, lips against Jordan’s temple to press a soft kiss to the skin there. “It’s me. I’ve got you.”   


Jordan just nods, and then the line of his muscles go slack again. Back to sleep, safe in Virgil’s arms.

Virgil presses his smile into Jordan’s hair, and doesn’t even get annoyed when he has to wrestle the car door open with one hand. 


	7. falling asleep somewhere that isn’t their bed + waking up and being soothed back to sleep

Jordan hates long flights. They make him agitated, anxious, and he insists that it’s because he doesn’t like the tight space and the artificial oxygen. Virgil knows different, though – caught him Googling airplane disasters and the probability of it happening on certain models.

It’s shitty, seeing it. Jordan’s fingernails digging into the armrest of the seat so hard it must hurt, knuckles turning white while the beds of his nails colour red and yellow. He can’t do anything to stop it, has tried a million times before, but nothing works. Nothing at all. 

It’s happening now. Jordan has his head tipped back against the seat, pressing against the embroidered liver bird, and his eyes are shut. He swallows, and Virgil watches the movement of his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. Decides that enough is enough, and covers Jordan’s hand with his own.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Jordan mutters. He’s entirely disapproving, but he hasn’t even opened his eyes.  


“Like what?” Virgil says, light and teasing. He brushes his thumb over the bumps of Jordan’s wrist bones and presses a light kiss to his cheek, not even caring (for once) about their teammates around them. “You don’t know what my face looks like. You haven’t even looked at me.”   


“Pitying,” Jordan says. He finally opens his eyes and turns his head, angling his body so that he’s facing Virgil. “Exactly like that.”   


Virgil tuts, strokes Jordan’s hair off his forehead. “You can close your eyes again if you’re going to be like that,” he says, and doesn’t mean a word of it. 

.

He finally falls asleep three hours into the flight, fingers fisted into Virgil’s t-shirt and head pressed into his chest. He lets out little breaths, warm against Virgil’s skin, and his hair tickles Virgil’s chin. 

Virgil’s just glad he’s finally peaceful, finally putting the thoughts of disaster out of his head. He twitches every so often, against the line of Virgil’s arm around his shoulders, and his lips travel over Virgil’s collarbone. It feels so normal, to be sat like this while the whole world passes them by. It feels normal and Virgil loves it. 

He loves the fact that nobody bats an eyelid. They walk past, to get a drink or a snack or to talk to their friends, but they don’t say a word. Engage in quiet conversation with Virgil, maybe, and ruffle Jordan’s hair gently, but not enough to wake him up. And there’s nothing about the fact that Jordan is curled up against Virgil like a tiny puppy. They’ve accepted it now. It’s not a surprise anymore. 

Gini’s leaning over the seats right now, talking to Virgil about the weather, of all things. The heat in New York, the humidity of the entire country. Virgil can’t think of a polite way to get out of the conversation so he’s silently praying that it’s not enough to wake Jordan up. 

Of course, Jordan wakes up.

Only slightly, stirring against Virgil’s shoulder. He blinks himself awake, blue eyes shining bright and looks up at Virgil quizzically. His cheeks are flushed and his bottom lip is caught between his teeth, and Virgil loves him so much. “How long?” He murmurs.

Virgil kisses him because he can’t resist.

“A few hours,” Virgil whispers, carding his fingers through Jordan’s hair. The older man hums and settles back down, lashes brushing against Virgil’s skin every time he blinks. “It’s alright, you can go back to sleep.”  


His blinks grow heavy, and then his eyes flutter shut. Virgil breathes a sigh relief, and dismisses Gini’s apologies.

Jordan’s palm slides down from his shoulder to his chest, right over his heart, and Virgil honestly can’t think of anywhere else he’d rather be.


	8. trying to stay up until a loved one comes back home + falling asleep somewhere that isn’t their bed

This is the first time in a long, long while that Virgil hasn’t been back to the Netherlands for international duty. If it was up to him, he would’ve been there in a heartbeat, but Jordan had taken one look at him limping and informed both Jurgen and Ronald that Virgil wouldn’t, under any circumstances, be available.

Virgil, of course, hadn’t been happy about it. He’d sulked for a good seventy two hours, but he’d (eventually) reluctantly agreed that Jordan was right and he definitely couldn’t play football, considering he couldn’t even walk, let alone run. 

And he’s been needy. Even more so than normal, but Jordan can’t bring himself to complain because he knows what it’s like. He’s been there more than once, stuck at home while everyone else is away with their national teammates. It’s boring. It’s lonely, more than anything, so Jordan texts back every time – even if the half hourly texts are starting to grate a little.

Still, he reminds himself that it was his decision not to let Virgil go (although that decision probably would’ve been taken by someone a little more – or less, depending on how you look at it – important than Jordan regardless, but he still feels responsible. Virgil is his, to look after and keep safe.

That means more than a few dozen texts and a stroppy boyfriend.

.

Virgil had promised that he’d wait up for Jordan, but the team’s flight from Germany had been cancelled due to a storm, and by the time they’d gotten another, the sun had long set. It wasn’t a long flight. In fact, the drive from Heathrow to Liverpool was even longer.

He’d text Virgil to let him know that he wouldn’t be home until the early hours and that he should go to bed, but Virgil had said, _it’s fine, I’ll be waiting xx_ , and that was it. Jordan smiled down at his phone, but he knew Virgil wouldn’t be awake when he stepped through that front door. 

And obviously, he was right. When he gets home, Virgil is fast asleep, stretched across the length of the sofa. His head is pillowed on the armrest and his feet are hanging over the other end, far too long for it, but Jordan can’t help the smile that spreads across his face.

He looks sweet. The sleeves of his hoodie are pulled over his fingers and the bottoms of Jordan’s joggers are rolled up to his calves because he’s too tall for them. Jordan loves him so much it makes his chest ache, and he can’t actually believe how much he’s missed this.

“Hey,” Virgil murmurs. The noise of the door closing has woken him up and he blinks at Jordan, arms stretched out towards him. Needy, even now Jordan is back home. “Missed you.”

“Missed you too,” Jordan says, toeing his trainers off before he lets himself be pulled down. Virgil arranges him, movements slow with sleep, until Jordan is tucked against his body and he’s spooning right up against him, arm over his waist.

His breathing evens out, warm puffs of it against Jordan’s skin, and the older man lets himself be soothed into sleep.

Because Jordan knows that Virgil isn’t going to let him go. Not tonight, not ever. 


	9. getting out of bed too soon, insisting they feel much better, and collapsing

Jordan sits up, swings his legs over the edge of the bed. He’s got his teeth clenched and fingers curled into fists, that’s his determined face. Virgil feels nothing but dread.

“I’m _fine_ ,” he insists, feet finally touching the floor. From the waist up, he looks fine, but there’s a splint around his ankle and the skin there is bruised black and blue. Virgil can’t see it, but he knows that. “It’s just a sprain.”  


“You know as well as I do that it’s never _just a sprain_ ,” Virgil says absently, raising an eyebrow at Jordan. He’s sitting in an armchair opposite him, watching every movement. Not getting too close, because he doesn’t want Jordan to snap. He probably will anyway, but it’s much easier if he does it after –– less pushing.  


“I am _fine_ , Virgil,” Jordan repeats, huffing slightly. He places his hands flat on the bed and pushes himself up. It’s not going to work – he’s not putting any weight on his ankle and his arms are shaking with the force of holding himself up – but when has he ever listened to reason?  


“Are you?” Virgil asks simply. He doesn’t expect a reply, other than a quiet curse in his direction, and he’s right. Jordan’s always done what he wanted, and this is no exception.  


He finally braves it, though, shifts his weight from his arms to his legs and stands. Grins triumphantly, although it’s aimed at Virgil and definitely more smug than triumphant. But Virgil sees the tremor of his thighs, the way his knees start to shake, and he’s up in a heartbeat heading towards Jordan to catch him––

But it’s too late.

Jordan’s body crumples, and he’s on the floor, back heaving with terrified gasps.

“Shit, Jord,” Virgil breathes, crouching next to Jordan. The skin of his palms and knees will be red and stinging already, but that doesn’t stop him from smacking his hand into the floor furiously. “God, just – _stop_ , alright? Stop it.” 

“I hate this,” Jordan mutters, letting himself be manoeuvred so he’s sitting with his legs stretched out in front of him. He stares down at his hands, won’t meet Virgil’s eye. “I just _hate_ this, V.” 

“I know you do,” Virgil whispers. He risks curling an arm around Jordan’s shoulders and pulling him in close, kissing the top of his head when he doesn’t fight Virgil away. “I know how much you hate it, but Jord – you need to heal. You’ve got your scan tomorrow to see what damage you’ve done, and then you can start moving again, once you’ve got a treatment plan. I know you love this team, but you need to stop playing the martyr. How are you meant to lead us if you’ve got ligaments like spaghetti, hm?”  


“You’re right. And I know you are,” Jordan sighs, turning his face further into Virgil’s warmth. He wipes his hand across his nose, a sure sign that he’s trying to hold back tears, and Virgil pulls him in even closer. He needs that comfort. “But I just feel so useless. Nobody needs me when I’m like this, and I’m so used to people relying on me.”   


Virgil tuts, gently tapping Jordan’s bicep. “I need you. I always need you,” he says, lips against Jordan’s temple. “Who’s going to remind me about my lunch plans? Or that it’s my turn to put the bin out? Who’s going to stop me from eating an entire pack of biscuits in one sitting? Who’s going to love me the way you do, Jordan?” 

That gets him a smile, small and hidden against his skin.

“When you put it like that…” Jordan says, and when Virgil touches his warm cheek gently. The older man twists up to press a dry kiss to the underside Virgil’s jaw, and then he looks determined again – but it’s different this time. “I know I’m a pain sometimes, but – thank you. I really appreciate it.”  


“I know you do, J,” Virgil says, cupping Jordan’s cheek to tilt his head up and kiss him. “Let me take you to bed?”  


“Always,” Jordan says, and means it.  



	10. cuddling up to a loved one when they are too tired to see straight.

Jordan hums, rolls over so he can rest his chin on Virgil’s chest.

“Why are you still awake?” Virgil asks, voice thick with sleepiness. He sounds like he’s just on the verge of being awake himself, but he pulls himself back properly, and cards his fingers through Jordan’s hair.  


“I dunno,” Jordan shrugs, although he definitely does know. He traces the shape of a heart on the left side of Virgil’s chest, thumb brushing over his nipple teasingly, and the younger man makes a quiet wounded noise. “It’s stupid, really. I’m just – scared that if I sleep, then I’ll wake up and it’ll all be a dream.”   


“It is stupid,” Virgil says, humming slightly. He flinches away with a laugh when Jordan flicks his nipple and catches his fingers, bringing them up to his mouth to kiss his knuckles. “But I promise you that it’s real. Look, I’ll prove it.”   


His free hand comes down to Jordan’s hip and pinches the bare skin sharply.

“Fucker!” Jordan hisses, slapping Virgil’s wrist. He’s smiling though, and just rolls closer into Virgil’s body rather than away from it. “That _hurt_.”   


“Well, now you know it’s real, you can go to sleep,” Virgil says, sounding entirely too reasonable. Jordan hates to agree with him, but it’s much easier when there are gentle fingers in his hair. “You look like shit, J.”   


“Charming,” Jordan says, finally rolling away, but it’s not because he’s offended. In fact, he reaches behind him and grabs Virgil’s wrist, pulls him with him until they’re spooning, curled against each other with no room between them.   


“You know what I mean, you can barely see straight,” Virgil says dismissively, although he does press a kiss to Jordan’s neck. He’s quiet for a moment, considering, and then smiles, palm warm where it’s resting on Jordan’s stomach. “If you don’t go to sleep, I can’t wake up next to my boyfriend: European cup winner, champion of the world, and newly crowned premier league winner.”  


Jordan hums, and links his fingers with Virgil’s. “I like the sound of that,” he murmurs, and settles down with the feel and scent and sight of Virgil surrounding him, keeping him safe, keeping him grounded.


	11. hearing 'stay awake' as they are carried to safety. (1/3)

It all happens so fast.

It’s cliche to say that and Jordan knows it, but that doesn’t stop it from being true. Because one minute, he’s standing a matter of yards behind Virgil, watching him bounce around in the penalty box like a kid who’s had too much sugar, the way he always does. It’s his preparation. He’s got to make sure he’s ready to jump.

The next, he’s nothing but a heap on the floor, still and unmoving. 

Nobody even realises. They don’t stop, all tussling and shoving each other. Thankfully no one stands on him or trips over him or – whatever. Jordan wants to shout, to warn them, but his mouth won’t work and his feet won’t move. He can’t do anything. He’s frozen.

His mind finally kicks into gear when he sees someone’s boot, far too close to Virgil’s head for comfort. It’s only been a matter of seconds but it feels like hours, and he already hates himself for not doing something sooner. He drops to his knees, right next to Virgil’s side, and shouts. The words don’t make sense, he’s pretty sure of it, but it’s enough that people notice. 

The referee blows his whistle. Joe gestures for the medical team to hurry. A flash of bright orange – the stretcher, it’s the stretcher – and Jordan feels sick. Virgil still hasn’t opened his eyes, still hasn’t sat up and snapped at him for fussing.

“Jordan?” Dr Massey says. He looks positive, hopeful – even though he must be panicking. Jordan breathes out, and reminds himself that Virgil is in the best hands he can be. “Did you see what happened?”   


“Just, erm, a clash of heads,” Jordan says, but it’s a struggle to get the words out. He looks up at Dr Massey and sees two of him, but he forces the tears back and touches the inside of Virgil’s elbow. It’s the only part of his body that he can reach, because the rest is surrounded by medical staff, hi-vis jackets everywhere. “Is he going to be okay?”   


“We’ll take good care of him,” Dr Massey confirms, but that’s not a yes.   


Jordan feels like he’s underwater. Everything sounds muffled and the hands on his back don’t feel real, but he shrugs them off anyway. He thinks it’s James, trying to drag him away, but he’s going nowhere. Not until Virgil wakes up, not until he knows he’s okay.

He hears, weakly, the only thing he wants right now.

“Jord,” Virgil breathes, quiet and raw. He coughs, retching as his upper body twists to the side, but then just as quick as it happened, he collapses back against the turf with heavy gasps. Dr Massey nods that it’s okay, so Jordan tangles their fingers together, cradling their hands in his lap.  


“You scared me,” Jordan says, but it’s not as scolding as he intends it to be. It’s weak and shaky, and Virgil laughs, like he knows that. “Don’t you ever do that again. How are you feeling?”   


“Like I’ve just been hit by a truck,” Virgil murmurs, tilting his chin down so he can look at Jordan properly. That doesn’t do him any good though, because he groans, head falling back again as he lifts his free hand to his face. “My head is _killing_.”  


Jordan breathes out a laugh, but it doesn’t last long. Virgil’s eyelids are slipping closed again and he doesn’t react to Dr Massey’s questions, just lays there, silent and unmoving. If seeing it once was bad – then seeing it twice is indescribable. 

“What’s going on?” He asks, and gets ignored. James’ hand is on his back again and he shakes him off, because Virgil is the only thing that matters right now. “Andrew, what’s going on? Why is he––?”   


“We don’t know, Jordan. We don’t know,” Dr Massey says, mouth set in a thin line. He finally meets Jordan’s eye and his gaze is apologetic, pitying and it makes Jordan feel ill. “Concussion is unpredictable with every case. We need to get him to the hospital as soon as possible, and then we can figure out what’s happening.”  


He lets go of Virgil’s hand so they can load him onto the stretcher, and feels lost without his touch. Stands when the paramedics do, takes his hand again, squeezing his fingers. Watches his eyes flutter open, and the relief floods his body. 

“What’s happenin’?” Virgil slurs, eyes locked on Jordan’s face like he’s somehow got all the answers. He doesn’t. He doesn’t even know how to calm himself down, let alone Virgil.  


“Concussion,” Jordan says, thumb brushing across his knuckles. He walks alongside the stretcher, would follow it all the way to the hospital if he could, but they only get as far as the centre circle and then Virgil starts to lose consciousness again. His heart pounds, choking him, and he tries not to panic. “Stay awake, Virgil, _please_.”   


He doesn’t know what to do. Wants to go with him, wants to tell him he loves him and be there for him and make all of this better, but the team needs him. Anfield is so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Their teammates look helpless.

He doesn’t know what to _do_.

Klopp stops him from following them all the way down the tunnel with an arm across his chest, and then he pulls Jordan into his side. At this point, he isn’t sure who Jurgen is trying to protect.

“I can take you off if you want to go with him,” Jurgen says, quiet and behind his hand so the cameras don’t pick it up. His touch is warm and comforting. Jordan didn’t even realise how much he needs it. “Some things are more important, Jordan.”  


“I’m –” Jordan says, looking up at the time board. Eleven minutes plus stoppage time to go. Will be a lengthy one, so twenty minutes all in all. He takes a minute to let it sink in, then straightens his spine. “I’m fine. I’ll play.”  


“Are you sure?” Jurgen says, frowning. He puts a hand on Jordan’s shoulder and pushes gently until they’re facing each other, and then scrutinises his face. “Nobody would blame you, Hendo, if your head wasn’t in it. I can take you off.”  


He takes a look across to the pitch. To Robbo, who looks haunted. To Gini, who looks almost as bad as Jordan feels. To James, who’s got his bottom lip caught between his teeth and is watching Jordan closely.

“They need me,” Jordan says, shaking his head. His decision is made. He won’t change his mind. “The boys need me.”   



	12. hearing 'stay awake' as they are carried to safety. (2/3)

The fourth official holds the board up. Thirty two in green, four in red. 

Jordan turns away, and tries to ignore the bile in his throat.

.

They win, but it’s not the same. Nobody is in a fit state to play, that much is obvious. Not even the opposition – they drag their feet, pass the ball around the midfield. Look at Jordan, at Gini, apologetically. Their manager is having quiet words with Jurgen, and everyone just wants the whistle.

He wonders what they’re doing to Virgil. If he’s left Anfield yet, in the back of an ambulance and on the way to the hospital. Will anyone even be able to tell Jordan which hospital it is? He wants to be with him so bad it hurts, the soles of his feet aching from the force of him staying on the pitch. 

The final whistle goes, and he doesn’t stay on the pitch long enough to even look at anyone, let alone shake a hand. His opposing colleagues will understand. Even if they don’t, someone will explain. They’ll have to understand. There’s no other option.

He doesn’t even shower. Just pulls his training joggers on and goes, cleats making echoing noises against the concrete car park. He can barely drive in them, but he doesn’t care. He knows where Virgil is now, and he needs to be with him.

He must look ridiculous, still in his match jersey with a half-unzipped hoodie over the top, but the nurses don’t judge him. They already know why he’s there, looking like he’s on the verge of a breakdown, and show him to Virgil’s room without much fuss. He thanks them, and then stops dead still when he steps into Virgil’s room.

Dr Massey is sitting in the corner of the room, looking exhausted.

“What’s happening?” Jordan asks. He can’t take his eyes off of Virgil, laying unnaturally still in the hospital bed. The blanket is pulled right up to his chest and there’s a needle in the back of his hand. Jordan doesn’t know whether it’s a good thing or not that there’s no IV attached to it.

“CT scans show that he’s had a small bleed on the brain,” Dr Massey says. When he sees the look on his face, he stands, approaches Jordan and places a gentle hand on his back. “It’s nothing to worry about, I promise. He’ll be in here a few days to recover, and he’ll need three weeks out, but then he’ll be back as good as new.” 

“Are you sure?” Jordan breathes. It sounds far too simple. If it wasn’t for the gentle beeping of the heart rate monitor, the stillness of Virgil’s body would make him think the worst. 

“I promise, Jordan,” Dr Massey says, tightening his grip. He takes a step back and drops his hand, nodding to where Virgil is out cold on the bed. “He’ll be asleep for a while longer, just while he recovers a bit more. But he’ll be fine when he wakes up. When he gets discharged, you’ll have to keep an eye on him for the first twenty-four hours or so, but the doctors here will tell you all of that anyway.”

“I do that anyway – it’s like having a child,” Jordan says. He’s trying to make light of the situation but there’s a wobble in his voice. Andrew doesn’t call him up on it anyway, just laughs quietly. “Thank you anyway, Dr Massey. You’ve been great.” 

“It’s my job,” Dr Massey says dismissively. “Take care of each other, alright?” 

And then he’s gone.

Jordan breathes out. A sigh of relief, maybe, that Virgil is going to be okay, and that they’re finally alone. He can finally let it out. He can finally stop swallowing the lump in his throat and let it choke him instead. 

He feels lost, though. So lost. Doesn’t know what to do, because the room feels so big, so lonely, without Virgil’s presence filling every space. He feels tiny without the familiar sound of Virgil’s voice lifting him up. What is he supposed to do without it?

Looks over at the chair Dr Massey vacated. It’s the only one in here, tucked in the corner, far away from the bed. Thinks about sitting in it, but then changes his mind. It’s too far. Too far away, and he presses the back of his hand to his mouth.

Get a _grip_ , Jordan. He’s going to be fine. 

He lets his hands fall to his sides and straightens his spine, looking down at Virgil. He looks peaceful, the lines of his face softened. He’s going to be fine – but not right now, so he needs Jordan. He needs him calm, and put together.

He drags the chair from the corner and pushes it right up to the side of Virgil’s bed. Sits down, and takes Virgil’s hand. He brings it up to his mouth, careful to avoid the cannula, and kisses his knuckles. Watches his face for a reaction, and can’t help but be disappointed when he doesn’t get one.

That’s alright. This is Virgil, after all. He’ll be asleep for a few more hours, and then he’ll wake up, fine and as irritating as he always is. Laughing at Jordan’s worried face, calling him his _schatje_ , knowing how much he hates it (or, pretends to, at least). 

As long as Jordan pulls himself together, they’ll both be okay.

He rests his head on Virgil’s thigh and watches him sleep.

.

There’s fingers in his hair, careful and gentle. Virgil, Virgil’s fingers, and he smiles, murmurs, _five more minutes_. 

But that isn’t his pillow. And this isn’t his bed. 

He startles awake, and sits up.

Virgil is watching him with an amused, tired smile on his face. His hand fell from Jordan’s hair when he sat up but now he’s holding it out, palm up, ready for Jordan to take. 

He does, because he always would.

“Hey, you,” he whispers, and watches the smile on Virgil’s face grow wider. The younger man winces though, free hand coming up to his temple like the movement hurt, and shakes his head when he catches Jordan’s concerned look. 

“I’m fine,” he dismisses, thumb brushing gently over each bump of Jordan’s knuckles. Jordan can’t dispute it, because he does look it – his eyes are bright and there’s finally colour back in his cheeks, but it still doesn’t help Jordan settle. He hates that he doesn’t know one hundred per cent. He hates that things could change in the blink of an eye. “I’ve got a headache, that’s all. The doctor came in when you were asleep and said I’ll make a full recovery. I know you’re worried, but I promise you that I’m fine. I’ve never lied to you before, have I?”

Jordan shakes his head, but stays silent. 

“Doctor told me you refused to leave,” Virgil says, smiling properly. He touches Jordan’s chin gently, thumb brushing over his bottom lip. “Made a right fuss, apparently. Proper little troublemaker, aren’t you?” 

“Was worried about you,” Jordan says, defensive as ever. He curves his palm around Virgil’s cheek and watches him carefully, before leaning down and kissing his forehead. “I’m allowed to be worried, aren’t I? You got knocked out right in front of me, and then you kept losing consciousness. I was worried sick. I couldn’t leave you like that.” 

“I know,” Virgil says softly, free hand coming up to curl around Jordan’s wrist. He turns his head to press a kiss to his palm, leaning into the touch. “I know you were. And I’m lucky to have someone that cares about me as much as you do.”

“I just – love you,” Jordan says with a shrug. He brushes a stray curl away from Virgil’s forehead and studies his face.

“I love you too,” Virgil whispers, thumb pressing against the pulse point on Jordan’s wrist. He smiles then, a little twisted – but in a kind way. The sort of smile he saves only for Jordan. “My schatje.” 


	13. getting out of bed too soon, insisting they feel much better, and collapsing + waking up and being soothed back to sleep (3/3)

The first twenty four hours are the hardest – but not for Virgil, no. They’re the hardest for Jordan, who has to put up with his whining. He’s an absolutely terrible patient. 

He was told, for the first few hours after he was discharged, that he should stay in bed. That the IV fluids he’d been on would make his muscles weak, especially considering he’s only really walked to the bathroom and back. Every other trip off the ward – scans, pharmacy, god knows where else – was in a wheelchair, although he’d complained about that too. 

_It’s just hospital protocol_ , Jordan had told him a million times, but he obviously never listened. 

So he wasn’t supposed to get out of bed and that was fine, because Jordan was more than happy to bring him whatever he needed. Food, a drink, or even a cuddle. He was just grateful that Virgil was okay.

But he obviously never, ever listened.

When Jordan leaves him, he’s asleep. Peaceful and lovely, and as much as he hates to say it, finally quiet. It’s the perfect time to get a few things done. Laundry, washing up. Menial things that he’s been distracted from, because Virgil’s health is far more important.

He heads downstairs, quiet steps so he doesn’t wake his boyfriend up. Boils the kettle and makes himself a brew, sips it while he fills the sink. Sorts out blacks from colours, and puts the first load in the washing machine. Takes five minutes just to breath, because playing doctor is a little bit overwhelming.

At least they’re both back in Melwood tomorrow. Jordan has training, and Virgil has a meeting with the doctors to talk about when he’s allowed to come back. Together in the same building, even if they do get a short break from each other.

He’s mulling this over when he hears a crash from upstairs. It makes him jump out of his skin, heart pounding against his ribs, and he hisses a quiet curse word and puts his mug on the table, taking the stairs two at a time.

“What have you done?” Jordan says, stepping into their room. Virgil is a heap on the floor, groaning, and he looks up at Jordan with wide eyes like he’s trying to make himself look innocent. “You tried to get out of bed, didn’t you?”   


“…No?” Virgil says, and then huffs when Jordan raises an eyebrow. “Alright, yes! But I’m _bored_ , Jord. I woke up and you weren’t here and I wanted to find you, but I know you’ve got stuff to do. I hate laying in bed all day. I know I’m a lazy person but I’m not _that_ lazy.”   


“Debatable,” Jordan mutters, but backs down when Virgil frowns at him. He helps him up and gets him back into bed, pulling the covers up to his chin and smoothing a hand over his hair. “Look, I know you hate it, but the doctor said – just a few hours, yeah? Get some sleep, and then we’ll start on your physio. Might even help you shower, if you’re good enough.”   


“Oh yeah?” Virgil asks, suddenly a lot perkier than he has been. He reaches out a hand towards Jordan and pulls him down, until he has no choice but to mould his body around Virgil’s. “In that case, I will get some more sleep – but only if you stay with me.”   


“Okay,” Jordan says, pressing three quick kisses against Virgil’s temple. He stays in that position, nose brushing against his cheekbone and leg slung across his thighs, as he settles down properly. “I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”   


He means it.


	14. routine kisses where the other person presents their cheek for the goodbye kiss without even looking up from what they’re doing

The alarm on Virgil’s watch goes off, and he groans.

“I’ve got an interview,” he says, shoving the last bit of his bagel in his mouth. Jordan’s just grateful it’s not his turn to do press this week. “With BT Sport, about this week’s game.” 

“And they’re not even letting you finish your lunch,” James says mockingly, shaking his head. He doesn’t even wince when Virgil kicks him under the table, which is kind of terrifying, to be honest. “Absolutely disgusting. Is there a charity for the mistreatment of professional footballers?”

“Yes – that’s basically the PFA,” Jordan says, rolling his eyes. He’s got to stick up for his boyfriend, hasn’t he? Virgil smiles at him gratefully, if a little big smug towards James, and squeezes Jordan’s thigh gently. “Don’t pretend that you never moan, Milner. I’ve known you too long.” 

James tuts, but doesn’t deny it.

“Alright, as fun as it was watching you two bicker, I’ve really got to go,” Virgil says. He downs his coffee and then finally stands, hand sliding across the line of Jordan’s shoulders. “Love you.”

“Love you too,” Jordan says. He tilts his head, presenting his cheek for Virgil to kiss. He doesn’t know why he does it, really. It’s just – routine now. A kiss hello and a kiss goodbye. It’s what they do. “When are you going to be done?”

“Should be done by the time you’re finished,” Virgil promises, scrubbing a hand through Jordan’s hair. “If I’m not, then just go without me. I’ll grab a lift off someone.”

“Have fun!” Jordan calls, watching Virgil’s silhouette grow smaller. When he’s officially out of sight, he looks back at James, who’s got his eyebrows raised and is clearly holding back a smirk. “What are you laughing at?” 

“Did you just –” He says, then cuts himself off like he’s lost for words. “You offered him your cheek. Like some old married couple.”

“And?” Jordan says, even though he’s flushing bright red.

“Me and Amy aren’t even that bad,” James says, and then the laugh finally comes out. He snorts behind his hand and Jordan just rolls his eyes, shoving at James’ shoulder. “Honestly, Hendo. Never expected that.”

“So we love each other,” Jordan says defensively, standing up. He picks up his plate and takes a step away from the table, before turning around and glaring at James. “What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing,” James says, although the smirk is twisting across his face again. Jordan turns his back properly and walks away, taking his plate back because he likes to be helpful, although he does hear James shout to him from across the canteen. “Give Virgil a kiss from me, yeah?”

He’s not even going to dignify that with a response.


	15. being unable to open their eyes for a few moments afterwards

Virgil shuts the door behind him, and sees Jordan coming down the corridor.

“Skip,” he greets softly, taking a step towards him. Jordan flinches, but smiles when he looks up and sees Virgil. It’s not real. Looks painful, to be honest, and Virgil takes a step closer. “Are you okay?”  


“I’m fine,” Jordan says, but it’s so automatic and robotic that Virgil knows immediately that it’s bullshit. “How is Loris?”   


“I left him speaking to his family,” Virgil says, but it’s completely dismissive. Like it’s the end of the conversation. He cups his palm around Jordan’s elbow and starts walking with him, towards where he knows his room is. “Are you okay, Jordan? Please don’t lie to me.”   


“I’m fine, Virgil,” Jordan repeats, although his voice is starting to shake. He turns away, looks at the floor. “I promise you, I’m fine. I just want to go back to my room and be alone. Please.”   


“Because you don’t want anyone to see how upset you are,” Virgil says with a nod. Jordan breathes out angrily, but Virgil knows that it’s just because he’s been caught out. He slides an arm around Jordan’s shoulders and pretends that the older man doesn’t lean into the touch. “Let me stay with you, Jord. I don’t like the idea of you being alone.”  


“Why?” Jordan asks, voice breaking like he can’t quite understand it.   


“Because I care about you,” Virgil says, voice firm like it’s obvious.  


.

For a moment, Virgil was worried that Jordan wouldn’t let him in – both physically and metaphorically. 

But they’ve been talking for hours, about the game and the mistakes and how it feels. How the fans will treat them. How they’re going to react, and come back stronger.

Virgil is so, so proud of him. Watches him try and sit with a straight spine, even though he’s clearly breaking. He’s the most beautiful thing Virgil has ever seen, because he’s just so _honest_. 

It comes out before he can stop it.

“I really like you, Jordan,” he says, words rushing out like if he doesn’t say it now, he never will. He watches Jordan’s face fall, and feels his heart break. “I’m sorry if you think this was a bad time or if you don’t feel the same or – or, whatever, but I _do_. I can’t pretend I don’t anymore.”

Jordan stays silent, watching Virgil with wet eyes. Virgil carries on because he’s rambling, nervous with shaking hands.

“Tonight has shown me... That sometimes, things don’t go to plan. And I can’t plan this,” he says, panic rising up his throat and making it hard to breathe. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Jordan. I shouldn’t have done this. I’ll leave you to be alone.”   


He gets to the door, and then hears Jordan’s quiet voice.

“No,” he says, hoarse. He clears his throat and Virgil stays stock still, fingers wrapped around the door handle. He daren’t move in fear of scaring Jordan off again. “No, stay. Please –– stay.”   


Virgil hears quiet footsteps padding across the room, and then there’s a hand on his back. He finally turns and sees Jordan, standing right behind him with wide eyes. He blinks, and a tear falls down his cheek.

“I like you too,” he breathes, and Virgil feels his entire body sag with relief. “It sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it? _I like you_. Like we’re – I don’t know, fourteen and trying to hook up behind the bike shed. But I do, Virgil. I’m scared, because I’ve never felt like this so quickly before, and I don’t know what it means for the team. And maybe this is a bad time, but really... I can’t think of a better moment. I’m sorry I didn’t react straight away.”

“It’s okay,” Virgil says, shaking his head. All of those things are making his heart pound, his head spin, and he reaches out for Jordan’s hand. The older man takes it and tangles their fingers together. “You mean it?”  


“Of course I do,” Jordan says, free hand careful when it rests on Virgil’s chest. He stares at his own fingers like he’s seeing something incredible for the first time, and smiles shakily. “I know it might feel a bit weird, but I want to do this. At our own pace. No pressure.”   


“Yeah, okay,” Virgil says. Feels a little bit of light in the darkness.   


The smile on Jordan’s face turns more real when Virgil covers his hand with his own, and looks up at him with an odd sense of determination in his eyes. He’s still hesitant though, and Virgil tilts his head downwards.

Curves a hand around Jordan’s cheek, and nudges his nose against Jordan’s. 

Kisses him, and feels shockwaves travel through his body, right down to the soles of his feet. 

It feels right. Like everything he’s been waiting for, like the only thing that could possibly make him feel better right now. He’s had his heart broken by football, his first love, but now Jordan is sewing him back together again. Closing the wounds, and kissing it better.

He pulls away and rests his forehead against Jordan’s, keeping his eyes closed while he thinks about what just happens. Replays it, over and over again, and knows that he’s not going to forget it any time soon.

He’s just – overwhelmed. That’s the only word for it.

Jordan must feel the same, because when Jordan finally looks, his lashes are fanned against his cheeks and his mouth is curved up into a sweet smile. He must be able to feel Virgil’s eyes on him, because he speaks.

“That was –” he says, cutting himself off and letting out a breathless laugh. They both know there are no words to describe what just happened.  


“Yeah,” Virgil says, and kisses Jordan again. Just because he can.   



	16. drunken kiss

“I’m not drunk,” Virgil murmurs, which is pretty ironic considering he’s slurring his words. He’s tucked against Jordan’s side, under his arm and head against his collarbone. “Promise.”  


“You’ve been drinking for about twenty six hours, babe,” Jordan says patiently. It’s hard to be pissed off with Virgil when they’ve both got winner’s medals around their necks, to be honest. He’s just happy they get to celebrate it together.  


“I was asleep for at least three of those, though,” Virgil says. He’s pouting now, lips brushing against his neck when he sways drunkenly. Jordan puts an arm around his back to steadying him, chin resting on the top of his head. “And it was only beer.”  


“And champagne,” Jordan reminds him gently.  


“And champagne,” Virgil adds, nodding to himself. “But can you blame me? I’m _celebrating_.”   


“I know, Virg,” Jordan says, laughing at his boyfriend. He’s obviously stone cold sober and normally gets pissed off with drunk people (especially ones as clingy as this), but he can’t quite bring himself to complain. It’s actually sweet. “You deserve it, too – not just anyone can keep a clean sheet in a Champions League final.”   


“But I did,” Virgil says. He pulls away from Jordan’s body and smiles at him proudly, eyes half lidded. He looks more tired than anything. “And you were wonderful, too. Best midfielder in the world, and he’s my boyfriend.”   


“Don’t let the Ox hear you say that,” Jordan teases, but he’s blushing bright red all the same. Virgil’s smile widens into a beaming grin and he curls his palm around Jordan’s cheek, pressing a kiss to his forehead.  


“He can’t fight me if it’s true,” Virgil murmurs, and then leans in to kiss Jordan properly. It’s off-centred and a little sloppy, and probably far too heated than they’re allowed to be in front of their teammates – but Virgil was right. They are celebrating.

It’s not every day you become the champions of Europe, after all.


	17. “that’s a good picture of you.”

Jordan answers the call to Virgil’s breathless gasps, the rustle of the sheets, and it turns him on even more. He looks incredible through the shaky screen, and Jordan is so, so glad he did this.

“Was starting to think you’d never do it,” Virgil finally says. He’s laughing a little bit, cheeks flushed and eyes bright. He shifts, and Jordan tracks every movement of his body.

“Yeah, well,” Jordan says. His own cheeks are heating up, but it’s not for the same reason as Virgil’s are. “Missed you, didn’t I.”  


“Missed me? Or something else a little more specific?” Virgil teases. His hand slides across his own chest restlessly, thumb catching over his nipple, and his breath hitches visibly in his throat. “That’s a good picture of you, you know.”   


“Almost didn’t send it,” Jordan admits, biting his bottom lip. Virgil’s laptop slides lower down his thighs and more of his body comes onto the screen, the ripple of his abs and the line of dark hair that slips underneath the sheets. “Didn’t know if you’d like it.”   


Virgil laughs, loud and sharp.

“Don’t make excuses,” he murmurs. His eyes are so, so dark, pupils like liquid, and he’s got that shit-eating smug look on his face. The one that he only gets when he knows he’s under Jordan’s skin. “You know I’ve been dropping hints for months. Driving me crazy every time we’re apart.”   


It’s true. Every international break, he sends heated texts that Jordan ignores, changes the subject. The occasional picture – nothing too bad, but enough to be suggestive. Enough that Jordan knows what he wants.

Jordan’s picture wasn’t even that bad, to be honest. The dark sheets that Virgil insisted on buying because of how soft they were crumpled behind his head. His bare chest, stark against them, flushed and already covered with a sheen of sweat. A flash of the dark, coarse hairs at the base of his dick, and the inside of his wrist. 

It wasn’t that bad, but enough that he fumbled as he sent it.

“Wish I could be with you,” Virgil whispers. He doesn’t take his eyes off of Jordan’s face, eyelids heavy and mouth parted as his fingertips inch under the sheets. “Wish I could touch you properly. Feel your hands on my skin. Kiss you, smell you, taste you. I’d make you beg for it.”   


“Fuck,” Jordan hisses, and gives up the ghost. He angles his phone so that Virgil can see his own hand sliding into his boxers and listens to the whine that earns him. He knows how to play up for the camera. He knows how to make _Virgil_ beg for it. “You’ve got me for fifteen minutes. Make it worth my while.” 

Maybe St George’s Park wasn’t quite the best idea to do this for the first time – but Jordan can’t complain when it’s over. 

It’s almost as good as the real thing.


	18. “please don’t tell me you filmed that.” – “of course i filmed it.”

It’s the first night that Virgil has stayed over. 

He was nervous, at first. They’ve slept next to each other, on planes and buses and trains, several times before, but it wasn’t like this. It wasn’t like a spare toothbrush in the pot and leaving a few pairs of boxers _justincase_. It wasn’t like coming out of the shower and smelling like Jordan’s soap. It wasn’t like waking up to a head on his chest and a leg over his thighs.

This is so much better.

He wakes up first. Jordan’s hair is tickling his chin and his fingers are gentle against the skin of his ribs. He smiles at the ceiling, beaming so wide it hurts, because he never thought he’d ever wake up so _happy_. 

He untangles himself from Jordan’s body and sits on the edge of the bed, pulling on a pair of boxers before he stands. Turns before he leaves the bedroom, and looks back at Jordan, who has curled himself around the pillow that Virgil just left. He looks gorgeous; so peaceful. 

Pancakes. Pancakes are a good idea. The least he can do after Jordan has been so – _gracious_ – is make him breakfast, so he drops a kiss to the older man’s temple and heads downstairs.

Jordan had shown him where everything was, but tentatively, like he wasn’t sure if Virgil would want to know. Like maybe he could see a future, but wasn’t sure if Virgil would, too. 

Of course he did. He’s never been more certain of where his future lies.

He shuffles about until he finds everything he needs, and then spots the radio on the window sill. Turns it on, to some little indie radio station, and rolls his eyes. It’s so Jordan it hurts, but he’s glad that this feels like home. Wherever Jordan feels at home – that’s where Virgil feels like he fits.

He doesn’t hear Jordan come down the stairs. Maybe it’s because the music is too loud, or maybe it’s because he’s too focused on the frying pan in front of them. Either way, he hears Jordan’s cackling laugh over the radio, and jumps about ten feet out of his skin.

“Shit!” He hisses, clutching his chest as he turns around. Jordan is grinning behind his phone, but he lowers it when Virgil turns around. “You scared me!”   


“Sorry,” he says, although he really doesn’t look it. He glances down at his phone and then back up at Virgil, taking smooth steps towards him until he can hook an arm around his neck. “Your dance moves are very good, babe. Did you even realise you were dancing?”   


“Shut up,” Virgil groans, tipping his forehead against Jordan’s. Jordan huffs out a laugh against his cheek and then kisses it. “Please don’t tell me you filmed that.”   


“Oh, Virg,” Jordan says gently, kissing his cheek again. He’s smiling, pressed against Virgil’s skin, and then he reaches behind him to turn off the cooker. “Of course I filmed it. You should know me by now.”  


“I made you pancakes and you treat me like this,” Virgil grumbles, pouting. It’s his best puppy dog face, and it’s not even working. Still, Jordan kisses him as if to appease him, hand careful on his jaw. “I’m never staying here again.”  


“Believe it when I see it,” Jordan whispers, and kisses him again before he can react.   



	19. "don’t touch me.” (1/6)

They’ve been here before. They both know how it goes.

It’s been three months, two weeks, and six days since the first time they kissed. Jordan doesn’t regret it, although he probably should. It’s just easier to forget what – or more specifically, who – he’s got waiting at home when Virgil’s kissing down his neck. 

This affair – that’s what it is, because he can’t lie to himself anymore – is killing him. He’s got a boyfriend. Virgil has a girlfriend, although he told Jordan that they split up a few weeks ago. Jordan isn’t quite convinced. He doesn’t know what to believe anymore.

He isn’t happy with his boyfriend. All he does is pretend that things are fine, smiles at Tom and tells him he loves him and _lies_ , but every time he feels that familiar gaze on him, it makes him feel sick. When he looks at Tom, he wants to run away and never come back.

Half of it is because he feels guilty, but the other half is because that gaze doesn’t belong to the person he wants it to belong to. 

The two weeks away on international duty did him good. Trent, Joe and Ox knew not to ask about Virgil. Nobody else knew enough or cared enough, so he was free, for two entire weeks. He laughed. He smiled. He joked about with the lads he calls brothers, and he felt lighter than he has since that first damn kiss. 

But now he’s back and all of that is over. He’s the first one into Melwood that morning, because he always likes to arrive early for an hour in the gym. It’s almost like he’s re-familiarising himself, getting used to the feel of the place again. 

“Jordan,” Virgil breathes from behind him. He didn’t know he was going to be in this early, and watches in the mirror as he comes closer. He goes to put a hand on Jordan’s back but the older man freezes, feet unmoving on the pedals of the exercise bike. “I missed you.”  


“Don’t,” Jordan chokes out, careful not to meet Virgil’s eyes. “Don’t touch me.”   


Something happens to Virgil’s face. It twists into confusion, and then disbelief, and then finally, heartbreak. Jordan hates watching it, so he stares down at his hands on the handles of the bike.

“What?” Virgil asks quietly, voice barely above a whisper. Jordan probably wouldn’t be able to hear it if it wasn’t for the stillness of the early morning.   


“I can’t let you touch me,” Jordan murmurs, dropping his head like it’s made of lead. He holds back a sob and wipes the back of his hand over his mouth like he’s trying to stop a declaration coming out. “God, Virgil. I can’t keep doing this. It hurts, and I didn’t even realise how much until I took myself out of it.”   


“I love you,” Virgil says, quiet and uncertain. There’s a wobble in his voice and when Jordan glances up, he sees the light reflecting off of a tear track on Virgil’s cheek. The guilt intensifies. “I want to be with you.”

“I don’t even know if I can believe a word you say,” Jordan says, laughing bitterly. He lifts himself off the exercise bike and turns to face Virgil, crossing his arms over his chest like a shield. “I don’t even know if any of this is real. What if we get together properly, and then decide that it was only the chase we liked? What if it doesn’t work, and one of us has to leave? What then, Virgil? Who picks up the pieces when it’s all said and done?”   


“I have never, ever felt about anyone the way I feel about you,” Virgil says. He sounds fiercer than Jordan’s ever heard him, so maybe that means he’s telling the truth. Jordan feels like he’s being pulled in a thousand different directions. “I love you, Jordan! You might think this is just the chase for you, but for me, it’s different. I know what you mean to me. I know that you’re my forever.”  


Jordan doesn’t say anything. Can’t, because he feels frozen to the spot. This is what he’s been waiting for, that confirmation, that sincerity, but now he’s got it, he doesn’t know what to do with it.

“When you realise you want the same, I’ll be waiting,” Virgil says, and walks out of the room.   



	20. “i know it’s the middle of the night, but can you come over, please?” (2/6)

It was inevitable, really. Jordan never expected him to stay after he found out. But he also never expected any of this.

His hands are shaking as he scrolls through the contacts on his phone. He stops, hovers over Virgil’s name, wonders if this is a good idea. There’s no way it is, but it’s the only thing he wants right now.

Virgil answers on the second ring. Sounds tired, weary, when he says Jordan’s name, and then more alert when Jordan doesn’t reply. Asks, _are you okay? What’s going on?_

“I know it’s the middle of the night,” Jordan says, voice shaky. It’s far too polite for him, and Virgil is going to know something’s wrong. His mouth is throbbing and he can taste blood, and all he wants is to feel that familiar embrace. God, he wants it so bad. “But can you come over, please?”  


Virgil doesn’t reply, but Jordan can hear his breathing. It’s harsh, wet. 

“I need you,” Jordan chokes out eventually, wiping the tears away with the heel of his hand. “I get that – that you don’t want to see me, and I know I might have fucked everything up, but I _need_ you, Virgil. I need you.”  


More silence. His heart shatters.

Just as he’s about to hang up, thumb hovering over the red button, he hears Virgil’s voice, tinny and soft. “I’ll be there,” he whispers. “Ten minutes.” 

.

“Jordan?” Virgil shouts, voice carrying up to the bedroom. Jordan hasn’t moved, because he can’t bring himself to. He doesn’t even know how Virgil got in. “Where are you?”  


He doesn’t say a word. The house isn’t that big, anyway. Virgil will find him.

He’s in the same position he was when Tom walked out. Back against the frame of his bed, knees pulled up to his chest. Phone cradled in his hands, screen long since faded to black, but if you unlocked it, it’d be on Virgil’s contact card. Nothing is different, except.

“What’s going on, Jord? The front door was open,” Virgil breathes, finally stepping into the bedroom. He takes one look at Jordan’s tear-stained face and stops dead still, frozen with an emotion that Jordan can’t put a name to. “What have you done?”  


“I told him,” Jordan says. He smiles and it hurts, blood filling his mouth again. He doesn’t feel happy. He feels numb. “I told Tom about us.”   


“What did he do to you?” Virgil asks. He finally moves and drops to his knees, one hand coming up to cup the back of Jordan’s head. He considers him carefully, tilting it from side to side so he can inspect the damage. It’s only a split lip, anyway. “Did he _hit_ you? I’ll fucking kill him, Jordan, I swear.”  


“Don’t,” Jordan says, curling his fingers around Virgil’s wrist. Keeps him in place, but feels the anger vibrating underneath his skin. “It’s over, Virgil. It’s done.”  


“So he just – _gets away_ with it?” Virgil spits. He sounds furious in a way that Jordan has never heard him, but it’s more than that. There’s tears in his eyes, wide and wet, and he looks so awfully _sorry_. Jordan can’t help but feel guilty. “He hurt you, Jordan. He hurt you because of me!”   


“Not because of you,” Jordan says, shakes his head. He stumbles upwards until he’s on his knees facing Virgil, and curls a hand around the back of his neck. “It doesn’t matter anymore, Virgil. I don’t care. Don’t you get it, V? It’s over. It’s over, we don’t have to worry about anyone else anymore.”  


“But at what cost?” Virgil asks. He wipes his hands across his eyes roughly and then pulls Jordan in for a hug, tight enough that it chokes him. He doesn’t mind, though. Just hooks his arms around Virgil’s neck and holds him just as tight. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Jord. I will never, _ever_ let anyone hurt you ever again. I swear to you. I promise.”   


“I know,” Jordan says, because he does.  


And maybe he should be angry. Maybe he should be upset, or furious, or wanting revenge. Maybe he should be feeling guilty for what he’s done to Tom, but really.

He just feels calm. Because he knows that he and Virgil can be happy now.

They don’t have to fight it anymore. 


	21. "why didn't you tell me?" (3/6)

James looks defeated, dark smudges like bruises under his eyes. Jordan knew this would happen, no matter how much he wished otherwise. He and Virgil don’t get to be happy. He should know this by now.

“How long has it been going on?” James ask, deflating back against the wall. Virgil is probably having the same kind of conversation with Gini right now, and that thought is more comforting than it should be.   


“About four months,” Jordan says truthfully, because that’s the least James deserves right now.   


He’s not even sure how it spread around. Well, he can guess the basics – Tom, bitter and de(re-)jected, who is still friends with Adam and James and Ox. Playing the victim, asking if they’ve heard from Jordan, if they know what’s going on. Telling them that he’s been having an affair, with his own _teammate_ (and that’s their teammate, too, didn’t they _see_ anything? Didn’t they _realise_?), and knowing the shit that it would cause.

He knew what he was doing, and Jordan isn’t surprised.

“How long have you had feelings for him?” James asks, which isn’t what Jordan was expecting. He shrugs, wonders if honesty really is the best policy right now. Sometimes, telling the truth just makes things worse.  


But now, he has to be honest.

“Since the very first time I met him,” Jordan says. He stares down at his hands and smiles, runs through that first meeting. He knew, straight away. Promised himself that he’d never do anything about it because he didn’t want to risk his career, but he never has been good at listening to his own advice. “As soon as I saw him I just – knew. That he was _it_ for me. That I was well and truly fucked, because I wouldn’t be able to stop it happening.”   


“So why didn’t you break up with Tom?” James asks, which is a fairly reasonable question, but he doesn’t know the half of it.   


“Because he threatened to out me if I did,” Jordan says gently. James looks shocked, denial on his tongue, but he knows that Jordan wouldn’t lie about something like this. “God, James – the second I even acted like I was going to, he told me that he’d do it. And what was I supposed to do, hm? I’ve got a handful of years left and then I’ll retire, so do I risk it? Become the first out gay footballer and spend my twilight years being abused? Or put up with it, and hope my relationship with Tom runs its course naturally? I know what I’d rather deal with.”

“What changed, then?” James says. He reaches out, finally, and puts a comforting hand on Jordan’s shoulder. Jordan smiles at him, grateful for the contact. At least he doesn’t feel like he’s alone anymore.   


“It just – got too deep. It killed me, being with Virgil all day, acting like we were together, being in love, and then going home to Tom,” Jordan says. “And I know this is ridiculous, but I felt like I was being unfaithful to _Virgil_. Because he’s the one I love. Not Tom. I was with Tom because he forced my hand, but I was with Virgil because I wanted to be.  


“And that hurt. Going home was painful. It was messing with my head, and I didn’t know what to think. So I did the only thing I could, and I ended it with Tom. Because me and Virgil –– that’s worth risking everything for. I’d give up everything for him.”   


“Do you think Tom will out you?” James asks. He’s always had Jordan’s back, and that hasn’t changed now.  


“No. He doesn’t have the balls,” Jordan says. His phone vibrates in his pocket, but he ignores it, because he needs to hash all of this out now or he never will. “He’ll think that telling you is revenge enough. I still know him. I know how his mind works.” 

“Hendo,” James breathes, head falling back against the wall with a dull thud. He angles his body slightly to look at Jordan, pity in his eyes. Jordan can’t quite bring himself to hate it. “Why didn’t you _tell_ me?”   


Jordan smiles, numb. “I was scared of what you’d think of me,” he says, and that’s the most honest he’s been for months. 

James doesn’t say anything, just watches Jordan’s face. It’s uncomfortable, the scrutiny, so he pulls his phone out of his pocket when it vibrates again. The notification is a text, another one, and they’re both from Virgil. He opens them, well aware of the fact James is reading them too.

**I hope you’re okay, J  
I love you ❤️**

“This really is happening, isn’t it?” James asks, laughing in disbelief. He presses his palm to his forehead and then pulls Jordan in for a hug, suffocating but in the best way. “God, I really hope it works out for you. Go to your boyfriend, go.“  


“Are you sure?” Jordan asks, hesitating. He’s already standing up straighter, though, ready to go to wherever Virgil is. As much as he hates to admit it, he’s missing him already.  


“Don’t worry about me,” James says, squeezing Jordan’s shoulder. “I need some time to process this, anyway.”   


“Thank you,” Jordan says, and means every word of it. He takes a step towards the door but smiles over his shoulder at James, grateful in every sense of the word. “I think you might be the best friend I’ve ever had, James Milner.”   


“And don’t you forget it,” James says, pointing mockingly in Jordan’s direction.


	22. “what the hell is that supposed to mean?” (4/6)

Jordan doesn’t even know what they’re talking about initially. He’s starving, too busy focusing on his lunch to care. Bits and pieces of sentences filter through, but he doesn’t care enough to piece them together. He’s very happy with his salmon, thank you. He’s not paying attention but he does catch Adam say, “Loyalty? From Virgil? After what he’s been up to with Hendo?” 

He also catches the way the entire mood of the conversation changes. 

James freezes, caught staring at Adam. Virgil is staring at Adam, too, but not as kindly as James seems to be, and Gini is staring at Virgil. Even Jordan lifts his head, gaze flitting between his boyfriend and his best friend.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Virgil asks, voice low and dangerous. Jordan keeps his eyes on him this time, abandons his fork and pushes his plate away. He needs to monitor this situation. 

“Nothing – I didn’t mean it like that, Virgil,” Adam says, wrinkling his nose. He’s panicking though, it’s evident in his tone. Jordan just wants him to shut up. “Just with all these rumours about you leaving the club – and we’re worried about Jordan, aren’t we? I mean, you did cheat on your girlfriend with him. Who’s to say you won’t do the same to him?” 

“Okay,” Virgil says flatly, face expressionless. That’s the face he has on when he’s furious, and he doesn’t even react to Jordan’s comforting hand on his thigh.

“It’s not – it was _banter_ , that’s all,” Adam says, shrugging it off and going back to his lunch. Like it’s that easy. Like Virgil is just going to let it lie now. “Like I said, we’re worried about him. He’s our friend, and we care. That’s all. We don’t want you to hurt him, do we, boys?”

He aims the last question at James and Andy, and just gets a blank stare in return. 

“Right,” Virgil says. He purses his lips, doesn’t look away from Adam. “Nothing about the fact your precious best mate cheated on _his_ boyfriend as well, yeah? Because he’s so innocent in all of this, isn’t he. It takes two to have an affair, you know.” 

He stands, pushes his chair away from the table with a deafening screech against the tiled floor. Takes one last look at Adam – one last sickening glare – and then he turns, shoving his way out of the canteen. 

The silence that falls over the entire team is deafening, and then Jordan snaps.

“Thanks for that, dickhead,” he snaps sarcastically, glaring at Adam who holds his hands up. Everything goes back to normal then, the quiet murmuring resuming, but Jordan isn’t done. “Why did you have to start running your mouth?” 

“I didn’t do anything!” Adam says. He sounds indignant and he looks it too. “It was just a joke, Hendo.” 

“Well it wasn’t funny,” he says, and leaves the table too. He hears James say something to Adam when he leaves, something that he can’t quite work out – but he can only imagine what it is. He doesn’t care that much, though. The only thing that matters right now is Virgil and making sure he’s okay.

Carol points him in the right direction and he squeezes her hand but doesn’t stop for a chat, although he’s sure she’ll understand. Virgil is in the dressing room and Jordan knocks before he enters, just to make himself known.

“Hi,” he says quietly, taking a few careful steps into the dressing room. Virgil is sat at the back of the room, under Jordan’s number, with his head in his hands. He doesn’t look up. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really,” Virgil mumbles, wiping his hand across his mouth. He crosses his arms over his stomach and hangs his head even further, not even reacting when Jordan walks towards him, when Jordan stops right in front of him. “Do you think like that?” 

“Like what?” Jordan asks. The conversation has changed so rapidly that it’s giving him whiplash, but he trails his fingers across the soft skin at the back of Virgil’s neck anyway. Tells him, _I’m here_ , without saying the words. 

“Do you think I’ll cheat on you?” He asks, finally lifting his head and meeting Jordan’s gaze. His mouth is set in a thin line and he looks exhausted, tucked in on himself like he doesn’t want to be seen. It doesn’t matter what he wants – Jordan is always looking at him, anyway. Jordan _sees_ him, sees in a way that he’s never seen anyone else. 

“No,” Jordan says simply. He’s never, ever thought that. It’d never crossed his mind, not even when he was fucked up and confused and desperate to be with Virgil. The things they’d done might have been classed as cheating, but it never felt like that. “I know you, Virgil. I know you wouldn’t.” 

“So why does everyone else think that?” Virgil asks. He sounds more hurt than Jordan has heard him in a long, long time (since that time in the gym, when Jordan told him that he couldn’t do it anymore), and he sighs, drops to a crouch so they’re at the same level. “And why only me? Why does nobody ask if you’re going to cheat on me, considering you did the exact same thing?” 

“It doesn’t matter,” Jordan says, shaking his head. He cups Virgil’s cheek and makes him maintain eye contact, gently thumbing the skin under his eye. “It doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks, Virgil. I know you wouldn’t cheat on me, and I hope that you know I wouldn’t do that to you. Adam, James – fuck, even _Gini_ – they can think what they want. That doesn’t matter to us anymore. Aren’t we past that?”

“It still hurts,” Virgil murmurs, leaning into Jordan’s touch. He closes his eyes briefly and when he opens them, he just looks sad: sad that their friends could even consider the option. “It hurts that the people who are supposed to love us would think that.” 

“I know,” Jordan says, reaching forward and pressing a kiss to Virgil’s forehead. He lingers, brushes a stray curl out of Virgil’s eyes, then kisses his cheek. “But what we have means more than any of that, and I don’t care if nobody else gets it, because I do. I get _you_.” 

Virgil nods, finally smiles. It’s a small thing, sweet and graceful, and he twists his head to drop a dry kiss to Jordan’s palm. 

“I get you, too,” he whispers. 


	23. the tender ache when you press against bruises + a person’s weight as they lie on top of you (5/6)

“I told you not to go after him,” Jordan whispers, shifts his body until he’s lying entirely on top of Virgil. He brushes his hair out of his face and presses a gentle kiss to the bruise that’s blossoming red and purple. 

“He hit you, Jordan,” Virgil says, voice hard. He’s not going to back down on this, and Jordan knows it. “Am I supposed to just let him walk away? He _hurt_ you.” 

“It was a split lip,” Jordan says, rolling his eyes. He drops a soft kiss onto Virgil’s cheek because he just can’t stay away, and Virgil’s hand slides down his back, rests on the curve at the bottom. “It’s not like he broke a bone.”

“I don’t _care_ ,” Virgil says. His other hand comes up to tangle in Jordan’s hair, to make him look at him. He seems deadly serious, and Jordan can feel the movement of his chest when he swallows. “I love you, Jordan Henderson. I will never, ever let anyone hurt you again.” 

“Even if it means you get a smack?” Jordan asks, raising an eyebrow. He traces the bruise again, around the sharp edges of Virgil’s eye socket, and then presses his mouth against the skin. Virgil hisses quietly, but doesn’t pull away.

“Especially then,” Virgil whispers, stretching up to kiss Jordan; a soft, chaste peck. The tips of his fingers slide under his t-shirt and ruffle through the dusky hairs at the base of his spine, and the touch feels electric. Jordan doesn’t know how he ever thought he could hide this feeling in his chest, because it’s threatening to burst right out. “I’ve always got your back, Jordan. Always.”

“I know,” Jordan murmurs, thumb smoothing down Virgil’s temple. “I know you do, and I love you.”

Virgil smiles, kisses him properly, and Jordan feels safe because he can’t remember the last time he was this happy.

He knows that this is his forever, and there’s nobody else he’d rather spend it with.


	24. trying to pull on clothes with damp skin (6/6)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (this is set before the other parts)

“I shouldn’t be here,” Jordan says, pulling his clothes on. It’s a struggle to get the denim over his damp thighs, but he needs to go, needs to get out of this house. “I said I wouldn’t do this anymore.”   


“Don’t,” Virgil says softly. He’s still in bed, sheets pooled around his waist. There’s so many miles of bare skin on show but it’s tempting, far too tempting. Jordan turns away. “Please don’t leave, J.”   


“We are hurting people,” Jordan hisses, turning around again. His t-shirt is on, sticking to his back, but his jeans are still unbuttoned and uncomfortable. He had to shower. He had to get the smell of Virgil’s aftershave off of his skin. “We are hurting so many people, Virgil! This is hurting _me_!”   


“I don’t want to hurt you,” Virgil says, shaking his head. He rises to his knees and curls his fingers around Jordan’s wrist, pulling him closer. Jordan doesn’t resist because he can’t. “That was never my intention, Jordan. I never set out to hurt you.”   


“I know you didn’t,” Jordan whispers. He finally looks at Virgil, the sadness shining in his eyes, the downward quirk of his mouth. He hates it, wants to kiss it away until he’s smiling. “This is so _wrong_ , Virg.”   


“How can this be wrong when I’ve never, ever felt so alive?” Virgil asks, _challenges_. Jordan lets himself be pulled down until he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, and he doesn’t move away when Virgil curls a big hand around the back of his head. “I love you, Jordan. I’m not letting you walk away.”   


Those three words. Jordan has been dreading them and looking forward to them in equal measure. 

He knows that Virgil means it, and he curls a hand around his wrist. It keeps him grounded, stops him from floating away when his entire body feels so incredibly light. 

“I love you too,” he whispers, the two parts of himself at war. The selfish side wins, and he moves towards Virgil like a magnet until their foreheads are resting together. He can feel the warmth of Virgil’s breath on his skin and he feels like he’s won the lottery.  


Virgil kisses him, and Jordan knows that there’s no turning back now.

He’s a goner. 


	25. “so… i might’ve been a little drunk.” – “only a little?”

Jordan comes back into the bedroom just as Virgil is waking up. A groan, a stretch, and then he’s rolling onto his stomach, burying his face into his pillow.

“Can you please turn the sun off,” Virgil mutters pathetically, squinting at Jordan as he places a mug of coffee on the bedside table. “Or at least close the curtains properly?”   


Jordan tuts, but does as he’s told and pulls the curtains across until they’re shut. It’s near enough pitch black in the bedroom now, and Virgil sighs gratefully, stretching his arms out towards Jordan like a big needy baby. Jordan, of course, goes willingly.

“I thought you said you weren’t drunk?” Jordan says, slipping back under the duvet. He sits upright, back against the headboard, and cards his fingers through Virgil’s hair when he turns and cuddles up to him. His head rests on Jordan’s thigh and his hand curves around his hip, and it makes Jordan’s heart beat twice as fast.   


“I might have been a little drunk,” Virgil admits, conceding defeat. He winces when Jordan tugs his fingers through a knot in his curls, but settles when he strokes his scalp gently.  


“A little?” Jordan asks, can’t help the amusement that’s coating his tone. He brushes those curls off Virgil’s cheeks and feels warm when the younger man’s arm tightens around him. Safe. “Thought you were going to drop the trophy off the side of the bus, at one point.”   


Virgil huffs, but doesn’t dignify it with a response. It’s alright though, because Jordan is more than happy to show him how drunk he was – but maybe he’ll let him sober up a little more first.

He’s not that cruel.


	26. “how could you even think that?” (1/3)

He doesn’t know who sends him the link to the article. They’re anonymous.

He makes a point of not reading what the media has to say about him these days. Doesn’t read articles about Virgil, either. Or – any of his friends, in fact, because whatever is written is never true. He learnt that a long, long time ago. 

The point is, he didn’t find it and he doesn’t know who sent it, because it’s a throwaway email address. Untraceable, even though he does search. Comes up with nothing, so he intends to just forget about it. It’s not worth concerning himself with. He barely even read it, anyway.

But he can’t. He knows what the article is about. Skimmed it before he realised that it was just the typical tabloid gossip, eyes tripping over those familiar buzzwords.

_**Liverpool ace.** _

_**Swanky Rotterdam hotel.** _

_**Cuddling up to a brunette in a skimpy dress.** _

_**Locking lips with the bombshell in question.** _

He didn’t need to see any more, closed the tab and then even went as far as clearing it from his browsing history, because it just made him feel dirty. He doesn’t need to read that shit. He knows that Virgil loves him, feels safe in their relationship. He’s a big boy. He wouldn’t be with Virgil if he had any doubts.

And he doesn’t. Honestly, no doubts at all.

Except…

It creeps into his head when he’s least expecting it. They’re on the back end of international duty at the minute, the European Championship not long finished. The Netherlands did well, finished second to an unstoppable France. England didn’t quite finish as high as that, but that’s alright. A third place medal is better than nothing, and Jordan is just happy for Virgil. 

He’s home before Virgil. Expects him only twenty four hours later, but he gets a call. It’s Virgil, telling him that the KNVB are throwing the team a party for finishing so high after missing two major tournaments. He’ll be in Rotterdam for a few more days, but then he’ll be home and all Jordan’s. 

Well, Jordan couldn’t tell him what to do even if he wanted to – which he doesn’t. So he tells Virgil he loves him and just to keep in contact, and thinks nothing more of it. 

And then he sees that article. 

Disregards it at first, thinks it’s just rumours, made up out of nothing. But it gets worse. The emails keep coming, from the same throwaway account. Another article, translated from Dutch. Pictures.

Pictures that show exactly what the articles described.

And then it’s still another twenty four hours until Virgil gets home. Jordan ignores his texts, cuts off his calls, because he can’t quite bear the thought of talking to him. It makes him feel sick to his stomach. His head is still spinning – what is he supposed to say? 

If Virgil notices something is up, he doesn’t confront Jordan. He’s understanding, which is possibly worse; texts and says, _I know something isn’t right. I hope you’re okay, text me if you feel up to it. Be home soon, schatje. Love you xx_.

That makes it even worse.

He considers leaving. Going to Adam’s, just for a few days. Until he clears his head, until he’s ready to talk. But that isn’t what he’s about. It isn’t what they’re about, because they promised that they’d be honest with each other.

(Not that Virgil is prioritising _that_ anymore. Maybe he never did in the first place. Maybe this pretty little brunette is just another in a long line, and Jordan is the only fool that’d put up with it). 

Nothing would surprise him anymore.

.

He’s sitting at the breakfast bar when Virgil gets in. Head in his hands, staring down at his phone. Doesn’t say a word when he hears the front door open and then close again, doesn’t move a muscle.

“Hey, you,” Virgil breathes, coming up behind Jordan and pressing a kiss to the back of his head. He walks away as fast as he came, flicks the kettle on and stands directly opposite Jordan. “Missed you.”   


“Did you do it?” Jordan asks, voice flat. He doesn’t look up from his phone.  


“What, miss you?” Virgil asks, barking out a surprised laugh. He turns around to pull a mug out of the cupboard and spoons some coffee into it, busies himself making his drink as he whistles to himself. “Yeah, of course I did. I always miss you when we’re not together.”  


“Did you fuck her?” Jordan asks. His voice is calm, surprising even to himself. He doesn’t feel calm. All he wants to do is break down and cry, but that would feel too much like Virgil is winning. It’s probably what he wants.  


“Did I fuck who?” Virgil repeats with a frown. Then he shakes his head and holds his hands up, like he’s trying to go back on what he just said. “No, hang on a minute. What are you even on about, Jordan? You’ve lost me.”  


Maybe he has. Maybe that’s the whole point. 

He spins his phone around so Virgil can see it, article sitting top of his browser tabs. Virgil scans it, face dropping and colouring draining from his cheeks, and Jordan can’t even feel victorious when he thinks, _I knew it_. 

“Did you fuck her?” He asks again, pulling his phone back towards his body. He meets Virgil’s eye, keeps a straight face. Doesn’t show how much this is hurting him. Pain is a weakness, and Jordan can’t show anything that can be used against him. “And don’t lie to me.”  


“No, of course I didn’t!” Virgil snaps. He pushes himself away from the breakfast bar and turns to face the window. Jordan watches the muscles of his back through his t-shirt as he scrubs a hand over his face. “How could you even _think_ that, Jordan?”   


“Well, you did kiss her,” Jordan says, somehow keeping calm. He taps through his phone again, scrolling through his gallery until he finds the picture he’s looking for. That all incriminating photo.   


_Let’s see how you get out of this one._

“Jesus, Jordan,” Virgil breathes. He turns around and looks at the picture, but only for a second, like it hurts to keep his gaze on it. “I know this sounds like- like such _bullshit_ , but I swear – she kissed me. She kissed me, Jordan, and I pushed her away! But they’re never going to show you that, are they? That doesn’t fit their narrative.”   


“You look pretty fucking cosy with her there!” Jordan snaps. Tears fill his eyes, and it’s the first time he lets the calm facade slip away. “Why would you- why would you do this to me? Are you tired of it already? Of us? Is it because you want to live a life that you don’t have to hide? Because you could just _tell me_ –”  


“No, no,” Virgil says, rushed and panicked. He reaches across the counter and takes Jordan’s hands, holding them tight so he can’t pull them away. “That’s not what happened, Jordan! I love you, I do, and I’d never, ever jeopardise that! How could I get bored of this, of what we’ve got? You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Jordan. I would never ruin that. I would _never_.”   


“Shit,” Jordan hisses, but mostly to himself. He pulls one hand out of Virgil’s grip just so he can wipe away the wet tracks on his face, hating the weight of the younger man’s gaze.   


“Please,” Virgil says sadly, shaking his head. His thumb trails smoothly up the inside of Jordan’s wrist, over his pulse point. “You have to believe me.”   


“I don’t even know what to believe anymore,” Jordan says, and turns away.  



	27. “i never thought you’d be the one to break my heart.” (2/3)

“Will you just –” Virgil says. He sighs, dejected, and Jordan stops still in the doorway to at least listen to what he’s got to say. “Will you hear me out? Please?”   


Jordan nods, gestures to the living room. If he’s doing this, he is at the very least going to be comfortable. 

“I don’t even know her name,” Virgil admits, staring down at his hands. He’s sitting on the sofa, but Jordan took one look at the space next to him and curled up in the armchair. He doesn’t want to be touched. He doesn’t want to touch Virgil. “She’s one of Memphis’ girlfriend’s friends. I barely even spoke to her, Jord, because I wasn’t _interested_.”   


“Then why are their pictures of you with your tongue down her throat?” Jordan asks softly. The words make him feel sick, and he doesn’t look at Virgil’s face, because he doesn’t know if he’ll like what he sees.   


“I _wasn’t_ ,” Virgil says, making a frustrated sound at the base of his throat. He pinches the bridge of his nose and looks back up at Jordan with tears in his eyes. “You know what the lads are like, the young ones. It was their first international tournament and they wanted to carry on the party when we left the club. Frenkie suggested going back to his suite, but I wasn’t going with them. All I had planned was crawling into bed and texting you to tell you I love you.”   


“Looks like it,” Jordan says, nodding slightly like he gets it. He doesn’t, though. He really, really doesn’t. He bites his lip so hard he can taste blood and digs his fingernails into his palms.   


“It was late, we couldn’t get a cab. We walked back to the hotel, which wasn’t that far, but we were drunk. I’ll admit that, Jordan – I was drunk,” Virgil says. “But I didn’t do anything. I remember it all, I swear. I just wanted you. It’s pathetic, but I spent the last hour of the party looking at all the pictures of you on my phone. Because I was with my friends, but the only person I wanted to celebrate with was you.  


“It took longer than it should to walk back. The streets were deserted, or so I thought. I was walking with Gini, and we were messing about, just - laughing and shoving each other. You know what we’re like. He’s my brother. And she came up to us, pushed between us. Gini’s far too nice, so he started talking to her, and I couldn’t act like a dickhead, could I?”   


“So you kissed her,” Jordan says, shaking his head sadly. “I just never thought that you’d be the one to break my heart, Virgil.”   


“ _No_ , god – just shut up and let me talk,” Virgil says. He sounds exhausted now, and he rubs a hand over his face. “Gini got called away, went to talk to Marten. And she wouldn’t leave me _alone_ , Jordan. She was just flirting with me, and she wouldn’t _stop_ , not even when I told her I wasn’t interested. I told her I was in a relationship and she said something gross about how it was just a bit of fun, that nobody needed to know. And I was telling her, I said no but she wouldn’t _listen_ to me.”   


There is absolutely nothing that Jordan can say to that.

“She just grabbed me and kissed me. I don’t even know where that long rage camera was, to be honest. I never saw anyone. But that’s the point of them, I guess,” Virgil says. He hangs his head. “I pushed her away. I told her again that I was in a relationship, and you can ask any of the boys if you really don’t believe me. Gini, Memphis, Nathan – they all saw. I didn’t want her, Jordan. I don’t want anyone but you.”  


“Okay,” Jordan breathes. He glances up at the ceiling, trying to blink back the tears in his eyes, but it doesn’t work. They spill over his cheeks anyway, and he wipes them away roughly. “I believe you.”   


The noise that Virgil makes is so relieved that it loosens the fist-hold around Jordan’s heart, but he still can’t bring himself to move. He doesn’t need to though, because Virgil stands, takes a few steps until he’s in front of the armchair, and holds his hand out for Jordan to take.

He waits a beat, unsure of his own decision. It feels like an eternity, but he finally takes Virgil’s hand and lets himself be pulled to his feet. 

“There is nobody in this world that I’d rather be with, Jordan,” Virgil whispers. His hand cups Jordan’s cheek, thumb drying his tears as they fall, and he tilts their foreheads together so that Jordan can’t look away. “I love you so much. You’re my entire world, and I don’t want you to ever doubt that.”   


Jordan tucks himself against Virgil’s body and finally, _finally_ believes it.


	28. “i love you, okay? i’ll say it as many times as you need to hear it.” (3/3)

Later that night, when they’re tucked up in bed, Virgil broaches the subject again.   


They haven’t been talking about it, but really, they haven’t been talking about much at all. It’s too fragile right now. They were just – sitting together. Holding hands, and remembering how to be in love. 

(Not that they ever fell out of it. It’s just that this feels different, because it’s the first time they’ve ever so much as bickered, let alone something as big as this. But it doesn’t matter now. It’s over. They’re safe, sheltered from the storm. It will pass).

“Who sent you it?” Virgil asks, carding his fingers through Jordan’s hair. Jordan makes a small, inquisitive noise in the base of his throat and Virgil kisses his forehead. “Who sent you the article? Those pictures? Because I know that you didn’t go looking for it. You never do.”  


“I don’t know,” Jordan murmurs, catching his bottom lip between his teeth. He rolls away from the heat of Virgil’s body, just far enough that he can grab his phone off of the bedside table, and scrolls through it until he finds the emails, holding them in front of Virgil’s face. “Throwaway account. No name, no picture.”  


“Someone close, though,” Virgil says. He takes Jordan’s phone out of his hand and puts it on his side of the bed, out of reach and hopefully out of mind. Jordan knows that he’s trying to get him to forget about it. “Somebody close enough to know that me and you are together. Someone we know.”  


The thought had crossed Jordan’s mind, but he didn’t want to dwell on it.

“Why would you believe them so easily, Jordan?” Virgil asks softly. His tone is so incredibly gentle that Jordan can’t even bring himself to get annoyed about it. “Why did you jump on that? You don’t even know who sent it.”  


Jordan shrugs, rolls away properly this time. The loss of warmth makes him shudder but he ignores it. 

“Jordan,” Virgil says, just as soft as before. He follows Jordan’s movements, places a careful hand on his bare shoulder, and kisses his neck. “I’m not having a go. I just want to know why you’d believe a stranger over me.”   


He thinks about it for a minute, considers his options. Decides that honesty is the best policy, and turns onto his back so Virgil can see his face.

“Because I feel like I’m always waiting for the other shoe to drop,” he says, staring past Virgil and at a spot on the ceiling. Virgil hovers over him with a concerned look on his face, curling a hand around his jaw, and presses a kiss to his forehead. “Look at you, Virgil. You’re gorgeous and funny and everyone wants you. You could have anyone you wanted, but for some reason, you chose me. I don’t _get_ it. I don’t understand. So I’m always waiting for the other shoe to drop.”   


“Do you know why I chose you?” Virgil asks. Jordan shakes his head, because he honestly doesn’t. He’s been thinking about it for a long time, and can’t come up with a single reason why. “Everything you’ve just said about me, and more. Gorgeous and funny. Kind, but firm. Incredibly caring – more caring than I think I have the capacity to be, actually. You’ve got the biggest heart of anyone I’ve ever known, Jordan. There are a million reasons that I chose you, and I haven’t regretted a single second of that decision.”   


“But there is always someone better than me,” Jordan says, wiping away a stray tear that has fallen down his cheek. He’s angry that he’s crying. He shouldn’t be upset over this. “I’ve seen all your private messages on Instagram. All those supermodels just dying to get your attention. Beautiful girls who want nothing more than to live for your every move. They’d be much better at that than I am.”  


“And I haven’t replied to a single one of them, have I?” Virgil says gently, tangling his fingers in Jordan’s hair and forcing him to make eye contact. “I don’t want that, J. I don’t want any of that. I don’t want a slave who only gets gratification from their status shooting up because they’re with me. I don’t want someone who won’t even talk back to me, or won’t tell me when I’m being a dick, because they don’t feel like they’re _worthy of my time_. All these things that you make think you’re a bad match for me – they’re what make you perfect.”  


“I just don’t understand,” Jordan whispers. He curls his hand around Virgil’s wrist and leans into his touch, closing his eyes when he feels that familiar warm palm on his cheek. “I don’t get it, Virgil.”  


“You don’t need to. You don’t need to understand,” Virgil says, shaking his head. He kisses Jordan’s cheek, his nose, his forehead, the corner of his mouth. Anywhere he can reach. “You just need to trust me. You need to believe me when I tell you that I love you.”  


“I know,” Jordan breathes. More tears spill over his cheeks and he lets out a shaky sigh, twisting his head so he can press a kiss to Virgil’s palm. “I know I do. But that’s easier said than done, isn’t it? When I see everyone wanting you, I just think – the life you could have with them. Not hiding away from the world. That’s when I can’t believe you.”   


“I love you, Jordan Brian Henderson,” Virgil murmurs, kisses Jordan properly. When he pulls away, he’s smiling, which is completely at odds with vibe of the conversation. “I love you, okay? And I’ll say it as many times as you need to hear it. I’ll say it until you believe me. Even if you never do, I’ll still try.”

Jordan doesn’t speak, can’t. Kisses him instead, desperate and breathless. And he’s not sure whether he’ll ever believe it fully, but something has shifted, deep in his heart. Finally, he’s starting to get it.

He’s starting to understand. 


	29. “you look really good, by the way.”

“We’re going to be late,” Jordan says, tutting as Virgil stands in front of the mirror. He’s sorting his hair out, making sure there aren’t strands of hair sticking up everywhere. “The car’s downstairs, Virg.”   


“I’ll be two minutes,” Virgil says, briefly meeting Jordan’s gaze in the reflection. He’s smiling, ever so slightly, like he’s trying to hold it back and failing. He knows exactly what he’s doing. “Stop panicking. You’re such a worrier.”   


“I’m not a worrier,” Jordan mutters. He’s not even sure how he ended up here – he came to check on Virgil fifteen minutes ago, because they’ve ended up in the same hotel and therefore travelling to James’ ball together, and got dragged in because of course, Virgil wasn’t quite ready. Jordan didn’t expect any different.   


“You definitely are,” Virgil says. He finally turns around, spreads his arms so Jordan can look at him properly. “Will I do?”   


Jordan hums and pushes himself from where he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, until he’s standing up. There’s barely an inch of space between them and he smiles, tilting his chin upwards. So close, all he’d have to do is lean in slightly…

Instead, he adjusts Virgil’s tie, but it’s still not sitting right, so he loosens the knot and undoes it entirely. Ties it again, adjusting each end until he’s happy, then smooths both of his hands down Virgil’s chest.

“There, that’ll do,” he says, taking a step back. “Seen worse.”   


“Thanks, you’re so kind,” Virgil says sarcastically, but he’s flushing bright red and his eyes are sparkling. He reaches around Jordan for his blazer and slips it on, turning to look at himself one last time in the mirror. “I’m ready if you are, Mr Henderson.”   


When they’re standing in the lift down to the lobby, it’s Jordan’s turn to study his reflection. Virgil stands by him, shoulder to shoulder, and watches his face with a small smile.

“You look really good, by the way,” Jordan says, hushed like it’s a confession. He watches Virgil’s smile spread wider, into a beaming grin, and an arm comes around his shoulders to pull him in close.   


“So do you,” Virgil says. Jordan slides his arm around the younger man’s waist, under his jacket, and tightens his fingers in the material of Virgil’s shirt, bunching it by his waist. Studies both of them in the mirror, thinks about how good they look together. Flickers his gaze up to Virgil’s face, the redness of his cheeks, the shine on his bottom lip. His breath catches in his throat.  


There’s something in the air tonight, and they can both feel it. 


	30. “you’re not as heartless as you pretend to be.”

Jordan leaves Virgil on the pitch.

He showers, gets changed, and spends ages doing his hair, but when he goes back through to the dressing room, Virgil’s favourite pair of trainers are still tucked under the bench.

He heads back out to the pitch. It’s a little colder than it was an hour ago and he shivers, wrapping his coat tighter around himself. Virgil is still on the pitch where Jordan left him. Everyone else is gone – almost everyone else. Jordan takes a step closer, and sees Virgil talking to Harvey. 

It’s fascinating to watch. He’s gesturing wildly, in that way of his, a hand on Harvey’s shoulder while the other one points to areas in the net. He steps back and watches closely as Harvey takes a free kick, then steps closer again to give him pointers.

“Pretty sure keeping him out here this long is against some kind of child labour laws,” Jordan shouts, voice carrying across the pitch. He walks over, arms crossed over his chest to fight off the chill. It’s weird walking across this grass without his cleats on.   


Virgil rolls his eyes, cheeks pink – but Jordan isn’t sure whether it’s from the cold or being caught. He slings an arm around Jordan’s shoulders when he approaches and presses a kiss to his cheek, not even taking his eyes off of Harvey who carries on taking free kicks. 

“Seriously, Harv, your mum’ll be wondering where you are,” Jordan says, sticking his foot out and intercepting the ball when it rolls near him. “Go and get yourself cleaned up.”   


Harvey goes, because he knows better than to argue with his captain.

“Well, that was unexpected,” Jordan says when the kid is out of earshot, turning around and hooking his arms around Virgil’s neck.   


“What was?” Virgil asks, wrinkling his nose like he doesn’t know exactly what Jordan is talking about. His palms rest hot and heavy on Jordan’s waist and his fingers tangle in the material of his coat, pulling him in for a quick kiss like he can’t just resist.  


“You, giving Harvey advice. It was sweet,” Jordan says, a tiny smile curving his mouth up. Virgil rolls his eyes and pulls Jordan in for a hug – probably so he doesn’t have to see the teasing look on Jordan’s face. “You’re not as heartless as you pretend to be.”   


Virgil tuts but he’s blushing and Jordan can’t help but reach up and press his cold fingers to his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin. 

“Nice to know what you think of me,” he says, but it’s alright. He knows exactly what Jordan thinks of him, and he doesn’t complain when Jordan reaches up to kiss him properly.   



	31. “i didn’t know you could do that.”

Virgil collapses back against the pillows, runs a hand through his own hair. Jordan’s hands on his thighs feel far too sensitive but he doesn’t complain, just feels around until he can wrap his fingers around Jordan’s biceps and pull him up for a kiss.

“Jesus,” he gasps, chest having with breaths. Jordan doesn’t let up, kisses the corner of his mouth, his cheek, and then his teeth are scraping against the underside of his jaw. “I didn’t know you could do that.”   


“There are lots of things you don’t know I can do,” Jordan whispers, smirking against Virgil’s neck. He reaches up to grab one of Virgil’s hands, moves it from his arm to his waist, sliding it down to the curve of his hip. “But I’m very happy to show you.”   


Virgil groans, feels restless. He doesn’t know what he wants more – a rest or to let Jordan show him exactly what he can do, so he pulls him in closer, kisses him fiercely. He drags the tips of his fingers across to the small of Jordan’s back, where the skin is smooth and the hairs are dusky.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he murmurs, pulling away just slightly. He kisses him again, soft and gentle, just keeps pecking his lips while he catches his breath. “I’m too _old_.”   


“I’m older than you,” Jordan reminds him, tapping his temple. He makes a point of dragging his hips deliciously slowly against Virgil’s and moves back down to lick wet paths down his throat, the tip of his tongue flickering in the hollow between his collarbones. “Besides, it seems like everything is still in working order.”   


His fingers skitter dangerously close to Virgil’s dick, and the younger man whines.

“Played every single minute for almost two full seasons and you can’t even handle me sucking you off,” Jordan whispers. His mouth is close to Virgil’s ear again, teeth grazing the shell of it while his fingers catch over his nipple. “Need to start working on your stamina, babe.”   


“I hate you,” Virgil mutters, running his hand over his face. He feels Jordan smirk against his skin and he’s grateful that they’ve got a day off tomorrow. He has a feeling he’s going to need it to recover.  


“Don’t worry,” Jordan whispers, tangling his fingers in Virgil’s hair and tilting his head back. He meets his eye, gaze determined, and then leans down to kiss him fiercely, breathlessly. “You won’t be saying that when I’m done with you.” 

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr @ [georginiwijnaldum](https://georginiwijnaldum.tumblr.com/) xo


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